


things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

by lesprita



Category: Black Panther (2018), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Concussions, Drabble, F/M, First Meetings, Head Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesprita/pseuds/lesprita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s very possible that the high-pitched ringing is distorting her hearing and maybe her brain is misinterpreting the words. But somehow she hears a deep accented, <i>“Do you know her, Your Highness?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

It’s very possible that the high-pitched ringing is distorting her hearing and maybe her brain is misinterpreting the words. But somehow she hears a deep accented, “Do you know her, Your Highness?”  
  
_Your Highness?_  
  
Someone gingerly pries open her eyelid and a tiny, light runs across her vision. “Can you recall your name, Miss?”  
  
“Yes,” she replies, annoyed. She tries to swat it away. “It’s Temple.”  
  
Her eye drifts close as soon as he releases her.  
  
The other male voice from nowhere whispers, “Your Highness, this is not our concern. We should leave at once.”  
  
“Temple has a concussion,” she hears, the voice focused as if there wasn’t just a protest. “She must have hit her head on these steps.”  
  
Is the guy a doctor? Why is his friend talking like a medieval servant? She’s feeling nauseous and cold, and keeping her eyes closed is a much better option than watching the world spin. 

Fingers knead the back of her head, in her hair, and she tries to tell him to back off when he makes contact with an aching spot. No sooner does she open her mouth does the hands retract and Claire hears, “She’s bleeding. Two lacerations, one to the back of the head. That’s where the assailant must have hit her with a blunt object.”  
  
Oh, she remembers that. It was getting late, she was leaving a friend’s house after dinner. A mugger shows up on cue, demanding her purse. Well, joke’s on him, she thinks bitterly. Her wallet is safely tucked in her pocket.  
  
The other voice says, “With all due respect, this is not the responsibility of the Damisa-Sarki. We should leave this to the local authorities. You cannot afford to be in the spotlight.”  
  
“Fine, N’Basa. Call an ambulance for her.”  
  
This, Claire has to say no to. She shakes her head, racking her brain like a pinball. “No. No hospital.”  
  
The rational, nurse-trained side of her accesses that she has severe head trauma; the emotional part of her, however, remembers a hospital is where her friend was murdered by an undead ninja and she herself was thrown out a window. It’s irrational, but she doesn’t care.  
  
“Ms. Temple, you have a head injury. It could be serious.”  
  
“I’mma nurse,” she slurs. There’s a sharp, throbbing pain on the side of her head. She lifts a hand to touch it, only to feel a cold, cotton fabric and someone else’s hand applying gentle pressure. “No hospital. Please.”  
  
“She’s lethargic,” His Highness observes. Then he asks after a moment, “Ms. Temple, would it be agreeable if you are taken to a clinic?”  
  
“Uh-huh,” she mumbles. “No hospital.”  
  
An irritable sigh from the other one. “Please, do not go after the ruffian, Your Highness.”  
  
“I’m only going to return her purse—hold this, N’Basa, she’s still bleeding—” the pressure shifts, “I’ll meet you there shortly. If it’s worse than we thought, then they can take her to the hospital and we can go back to the Embassy.”  
  
“Sire, the Panther is _not_ a vigilante.”  
  
Panther? The old Jungle Book cartoon comes to mind and a laugh croaks out of her throat. It must sound awful because the response she gets is a worried, “Ms. Temple?”  
  
Claire knows for sure she has a bad concussion because the next words that come out of her mouth make even less sense than the laugh. She opens her eyes, sees a man with deep brown skin and even deeper eyes leaning close— _oh, he’s beautiful—_ and then she explains, “I’m allergic to cats.”  
  
She thinks she sees his mouth twitch. “Then it’s fortunate for you that I am not a cat, Ms. Temple.”  
  
Yes. How fortunate for her.


End file.
